Thorns and Shadows
by kage713
Summary: A story of one Gobi and one Shame Trick together they are one of the most powerful teams of villains ever known Together they are thorns and shadows


Gobi groaned as he woke up. 'These beds are not made for eight foot tall prisoners' he thought as he got off the bed. It was his fifth week at the Zig and he was sick of it, true he was put there by Statesman which some would consider an honor but, still being in jail sucked no matter who put you there. 'Time to get up and have another fun filled day in this oversized bird cage' he thought sourly until he remembered today was the day Arachnos had said they would hold a breakout to free Scirocco. 'Although I'm sure the man can free himself or maybe not sense they took his tools and pumped him full of those power weakening drugs they use on all of us for good measure, who'd have thought that the right mix of Nyquil and Red Bull got rid of super powers, for a while anyway.' While the he thought this he robotically went about getting ready for another day at the Zig pulling on his specially made jumpsuit, after all the Zig had few other prisoners who were eight foot one and none as lanky and gaunt as Gobi, he wasn't sure why they made him wear one after all he was covered in white fur with a literaly wolfish head. Stepping out of his cell Gobi saw his escort, Rouge Island Police John Doe, it wasn't his real name but every guard in the Zig was called that so no one's kin would be in danger if someone broke out looking for vengeance.  
John was yelling at another John, "I'm telling you they were passing messages to each other you know that means Arachnos is going for another breakout, we need to place more guards around Scirocco it'll make them rethink blowing this place to pieces again!" Gobi had to force himself not to laugh. The John he was talking to was an Arachnos agent sent in to help with the breakout.  
"I'm sure you're just being paranoid the prisoners are not passing messages, Scirocco is safe and sound here and there's not going to be a breakout. "  
And that's when the explosion rocked the prison. This time Gobi didn't even try to hide his laughter as the rip guard dragged him down a hallway  
"There's been a change of plan we have to pass by the guard station to get to the new drop point we'll stop by there and get you some of the superdene serum."  
"Then let's get going I wouldn't want us to miss the flight."  
Hurrying down the hallway the two spotted the guard station and hurrying inside finding that it had been cleaned out of everything useful with only some longbow commonders to keep them company one of them called to Gobi "get on the ground convict this will hurt a lot less if you don't try anything funny"  
On the ground with his plams face down he could feel his powers reach for some of the seeds in the earth but holding himself back he listened to what the longbow and rip were saying  
"You did a good job here. Now you just have to lure more this way"  
"Thank you sir I'm not why they think their rescures would change things at the last minute but they seem to belive it just fine"  
Son of a bitch, they'd been double crossed by a man they thought was doing the double crossing by helping them out. Gobi readied his seeds to grow and choke the life out of the men who thought they had captured him but right before he could they were each tangled up in tenticals made of what looked like pure darkness.

Morning in the land of pain. In, out...in, out...the soft murmur of Shame Trick's steady, measured breathing was not the only noise in the area by far, but it presented to the imprisoned girl a sort of beloved constant, a sound against which to measure all others that entered into her limited world, which consisted of the bleak confines of her cell, the yard, the canteen, and the hated showers. It was early still; though there was no light in her almost violently antiseptically clean cell, the villainess could hear the raucous voices of her fellow inmates and the somewhat more energetic pace of the guards on the morning shift, fresh from a good night's rest. Without moving from the position she had been in when she awoke, ghostly pale body posed like a Victorian-era corpse against her uncomfortable metal frame bed, Shame ran a slow diagnostic of the ambient pain and darkness of her surrounding area.

It had always been a gift of hers; being able to feel out the little flickers of shadow and agony that lay within every individual, able to sense flareups and proceed accordingly, able to manipulate them. The drugs suppressed the last of the three, but not the first two. And that, simple as it may have sounded, was the key to her escape.

It was a matter she had been considering ever since she entered the bleak realm of what was affectionately known as the Zig. Of course, every prisoner gives a thought or two to escaping; especially during the hard moments when they're forced into things they never wanted to do. But Shame's need for escape was more than an idle puzzle, it was a hunger. Confined in her little hole, there was so little pain to feed upon...which some might have considered surprising for a prison that contained all of the area's most powerful and dangerous detainees. But it was a sad fact of life that the truly evil ones, the brilliant ones, never got caught. Their pain, dense and beautiful, formed its own black hole, the source of her dark energy. And without it...she was decaying.

Glancing at her reflection in one of the metal fixtures in her enclosure, Shame Trick noticed with sadness another speckle of white on her previously solidly dark, radiant hair. She needed to get back to freedom.

The sharp clanging of a wooden nightstick across the metal framing of her cell cued her in to a more precise time; Mean Bastard Jimmy, as she affectionately called the particular John who patrolled her sector of the prison, made his way past her cell at approximately 7:49, after having clocked in at seven and spent roughly forty minutes 'paying calls' to the women prisoners of the area, many of whom were rendered close to helpless by the levels of sedatives administered to them on a regular basis by a government who would rather they be catatonic than that they pose any sort of threat, however remote. Old Jimmy, as she often reflected with the half-smile of an enraged crocodile, surely wouldn't expect to have his karmic balance thrown sharply into his face in the way she had in mind.

She counted out the seconds. 7:50; other than Jimmy, the closest guard was three blocks away. This was the moment she had been preparing for what felt like an eternity. For roughly two weeks, like clockwork, Trick would vomit upon arising in the morning. There were many jests amongst the wardens of the unit as to which of them had managed to knock the goth bitch up, yet none of them had seemed to grasp the possibility that there might have been another reason for her bouts of illness. She was testing herself, testing what it took to get the drugs out of her system. Drugs were administered to all dangerous inmates at 8:30 in the morning; during the period between 7:30 and then, the inmates were as close as they could get to stable. Purging, she had come to realize, sent the body into a state of shock, during which the sympathetic nervous system triggered releases of adrenaline that overwhelmed what was left of the drug in her body. During this period, she was free. And all she needed to escape was food, the food of the darkness of one particularly corrupted heart...

The sound of retching drew Jimmy over, despite the lectures trained into the heads of wardens that they should disregard any inmate suffering, particularly in the early mornings before infirmary calls. "Still sick, you old bitch?" he called out, jovial in his absolute power over such a wretched figure, "I've heard tell that you're in something of a bad way. The other Johns," he slurred, leaning closer to her enclosure, "Tell me you're a rather poor lay. Something about throwing a hotdog down a corridor?" Coughing, she pulled herself to her knees, crawling across the concrete cell floor to where the man stood. "Depends," she responded, coughing once more and then wiping off her mouth with the back of one alabaster hand, "upon whose perspective you're speaking from."

Looking down at the pitiable female curled up at his feet, he was seized with the desire to fuck that last tiny piece of rebellion out of his poor little pretty captive. Nobody would know. Hell, nobody would care. They never did. Not about a prisoner. Not about any of the prisoners. As if a demon had seized upon what little remained of his self-control, he feverishly punched the passcode into her cell door and lunged for the girl once the glass had shifted to grant him access.

And yet she was not there. As the glass slid smoothly back together behind his puzzled form, the realization slowly dawned upon him that he was being watched. From the ceiling. In moments, the woman's form lay sprawled over his in mocking imitation of what he had so recently planned to do to her. "Oh come now," she cooed, no longer sounding sick, but rather healthier than he had ever heard an inmate, "I'm sure they taught you fine gents all about mind control at the academy. Now, do be a dear and try not to scream. After all, you never let any of the girls do that, now did you?"

Precisely six minutes and twenty nine seconds later, a woman's plump, youthful form was recorded leaving her cell on the cameras stationed every six feet along the ward. The body of one Francis Kilpatrick was never recovered. And in the confusion that proceeded from the explosion that went off at precisely eight twenty five, nobody realized that he was missing. Out in the melee of desperately fleeing prisoners and officers, Trick strode with the kind of step that sent princes cowering and popes weeping with lust. Any man who crossed her path that day was in for a hell of a trick.

Nimbly dodging a laser cannon blast, the young demoness stumbled upon two uniformed men and a large, prone lycanthropic being. Ignoring the wolflike man for the moment, she sent a flare of insatiable energy into the officers, draining their essence as they flailed helplessly and futilely attempted to resist. Eventually allowing their drained, lifeless bodies to drop to the ground like filthy ragdolls, Trick licked the sweat off of her lips and gave a fierce grin of joy. It felt good to be full again.


End file.
